


The Love We're After

by ssa_archivist



Category: Smallville
Genre: Alternate Universe, Angst, Drama, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2002-10-07
Updated: 2002-10-07
Packaged: 2017-11-01 11:18:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,745
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/356102
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ssa_archivist/pseuds/ssa_archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Love is a touchy subject.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Love We're After

## The Love We're After

by cheddarandonion

<http://traitorsgate.diaryland.com>

* * *

[Love is not all; it is not meat nor drink] 

He understood the meaning of their friendship, the weight of it that bore down on his shoulders. There were days when he would hope he stayed in the soot-covered darkness of oblivion. The therapeutic kind of oblivion and detachment that shielded him from harsh reality and from daylight. It worked many times before, he wondered if he could still retreat to the bowels of it, back to the days where he would just be glad of brotherly companionship. 

Love complicated things. Love was something he could live without before. 

"Love isn't everything," he spoke to the lingering spirits in the damp castle. Never had a lie sounded so true, never had a lie hurt so much. He rose from his desk, making his way through the paper-strewn floor and bleeping cellphones. The crystal snifter caught light, snagged the shirt-tails of sun rays, streaming from his window. 

[Nor slumber, nor roof against the rain] 

They were like pellets, a million bullets pounding the roof of his little sanctuary. The thunders called after one another, shouting, clearing the sky, deafening the mind. The water chased one another down, towards the earth, creating puddles of memory that will fade with the coming light. 

He couldn't sleep, his head debating what his heart already knew. The moment he set eyes on his now-friend, how unfortunate and how ill-met, tried to shake the memories away. Never had a person made such a big impact in his life, not since Martha and Jonathan Kent, caught him unawares and turned his world upside-down. Wondered how long this friendship could last, before his feelings were made known, and his world came tumbling down. 

[Nor yet a floating spar to men that sink] 

There were times that he found himself dying a little bit inside: his mother's death, Pamela, Lionel and LuthorCorp, his appearance (oh, so very vain). And now, the enigma that was Clark Kent. He was drowning in the nectar that was innocent and pure, he was drowning again. And again. 

It was a long time ago that he figured out as a bit of him died, a little more jaded he became, the steely resolve, the will to face the storms of the world. He's sinking, fast. Yet he struggled even more to hold on. And he's floating. 

"I don't know, Clark. Now that the place can practically run itself on its own..." his voice trailed, he couldn't hear what he said. He didn't care. He had practiced the lines too many times, it could run on its own and not stumble. Like many things in his life. His achievements. His failures. 

[And rise and sink and rise and sink again] 

Everyone had their high points and low points in life, his life notwithstanding. He fell when he pushed away the thoughts of Lana, of fighting with his will to direct his telescope to the sky, to the stars above, instead of to the glittering beacon fastened to the ground. He found redemption in Lex and his friendship. He stumbled as he tried to deny his feelings, yet again. 

He rose through his studies, nurtured by his family and friends. The town of Smallville would never be the same without that "rich kid on the block". It would be both soothing and damning. He wrote of his feelings privately and of the current news for the world to see. 

He learnt to keep himself to himself, kept secrets and told white-lies, be truthful or deceitful, be happy or sad. He's capable of acting out his feelings or acting on a stage. He learnt from the best anyway. 

[Love can not fill the thickened lung with breath] 

They met again when he was on near the top of the world. Savoring the taste of suffocation, the air was thin on the top of the world, the dangers more damning, the test more cruel. Clark's eyes were as deep and as emotional as it ever been. The cold fire that threatened to burn him and offered to save him. 

"What do you want?" 

"No. what do YOU want?" 

He had made sure that the Kents were ensnared. Mortgages and other difficulties. Enough to suffocate, not enough to kill or devastate. He planned this, more properly than any other acquisition plans, better than any simulation procedures he ran in the labs, more carefully than he planned the downfall of his father. He smiled. 

"You know what I want," he offered his hand. 

[Nor clean the blood, nor set the fractured bone] 

He watched the body in front of him, writhe on the white carpet, so thick it pulled him downwards. Red roses blooming, the artificial lights around the office gleamed on the pale skin. Paler than a ghost, yet real as life. 

"You undo whatever you did to them," he said through gritted teeth. He expected Lex to fight him, use the damned stone, rock, whatever at him. He calculated the effect on him, the time it would take him, the pain. He calculated everything. Except this. Lex yielding, putting the rock aside, in that silent metal box. Like a secret laid to rest. 

"And..." Lex whispered, so low, so slow. 

"I will follow you. Not because you want me to," but because he never stopped loving and hoping and wanting. The end of the world wouldn't seem too far, the top of the world wouldn't seem too high. And damn he's afraid of heights. He offered his hand. 

[Yet many a man is making friends with death] 

"We have a friendship. You promised. Our friendship? The stuff of legends?" Clark's whispers were stroking him, enveloping him in a gentle strength. 

"How can I forget?" his body ached, yet he welcomed them, each and every little pin pricks and every bruise. A reminder. His masochist tendency. He smiled. 

"Not to make a dishonorable charge," -never want to hurt you- 

"With no evidence than rumour," -trust me, I'm not as bad as they say- 

"Against a friend who has bound himself with an oath." -I believe you, a future together- 

They parted, eyes seeking the depth of feeling in each other. Searching for truth and finding them true. 

"Geez, I presume that's one thing they teach in uni?" 

"Actually no," his blush, never failing, never ceasing. "I know I'll see you one day, just wanting to impress you." Pause. "So?" 

"So what?" 

"Are you impressed?" 

He offered his hand, and Clark leant in for an embrace. The hug they both missed. "My own personal Sophocles." 

[Even a I speak, for lack of love alone] 

Clark watched Lex fade some more. The race to topple Lionel's influence in what had become their life had become somewhat imminent, erratically manicured, and bitter in some placed. He watched emotions catalogued themselves on Lex's face. Clark kept his work with the Planet, even if it was for show, if nothing else. He spent less and less time in the newsrooms, less time saving the inhabitants of the world; more and more time in the coccoon of Lex's penthouse and inner offices, more and more time saving Lex from himself, or so he entertained the idea. 

He turned his eyes back to the papers he had been doodling on -no, writing on- as he heard the phone being put down, rather forcefully on it's cradle. He heard the heavy sigh, heard the tired undertone coloring Lex's emotions: "Idiot." 

"What?" 

"Nothing, Clark. I'm in a mood to hunt a certain drone of mine." 

"I thought you don't approve hunting? Heck, you donated enough money to ban fox, deer, rabbit, and ooglie hunting from Britain until kingdom come." 

"Ooglie?" 

"Forget it." He dug through some papers and passed it over. "I do believe, Lex, that this is your ticket to... whereever you're going." He sighed tiredly. The sky was blue, dappled with white fluffy clouds, marching past, slowly. He squinted. He saw the grey-black lining in the distant horizon. He closed his eyes and felt. Felt Lex studying the paper with interest, felt Lex's breath hitch, felt Lex's hand tightened around his. 

"Where do you get this from?" high pitched voice, even years of schooling couldn't erase the need to feel ecstatic. 

"The drone whom you'd like to see dead." 

"This calls for a celebration," Lex stood up, paper abandoned, with the rest on a random pile. 

"Thought you'd never ask," It had been a hard three months, and he hoped that the wait would be over. Starting from the bed, starting from the slow lick up his collarbone to the trance he felt, robbing his lungs from breath, under the knocking waters against Lex's -their- window. He felt dread looming over them, the shadow like closet monsters. He had never been afraid of closet monsters before, he wouldn't want to start now, but helpless. Never felt so helpless before. 

[It well may be that in a difficult hour] 

He was frantic. He couldn't seem to sit, he couldn't seem to be able to do anything. Yet he was there, doing everything needed of him. The dark clouds had shifted away from the mountain tops, from the highest peaks, and never had his goals been so visible, so close, he could feel it as he wrapped his fingers around cool air. 

"Arigatou Gozaimasu," he heard Clark's voice float to him, knocking on his eardrums. 

"So?" 

"He has a meeting penned down for the Fifteenth, with your dad. His diary is fully booked before then. Not even you can squeeze a deal in less than a minute." Clark sat on the chair, "Unless we can run a distraction or something." 

"Or something," he walked over, handing a glass of brandy over. 

"You need this more than I do. God, Lex, I've never seen you so wired before." 

"You've never seen me running over dad before." He almost snarled. 

"You love him, really." 

He walked out of the room, never really heeding Clark's call, so frantic, so caring. His mind was a blur, the furniture in the house melted together, bleeding from the ceilings. The street was full of cars, full of light, the dark velvet background of the sky. 

The morning rays filtered through his eyelids. His body ached, but not like the sensations of ordinary mornings. Ordinary lazy mornings. Hard, cold. Not soft sheets and Clark-warmth. His body twisted in an angle. His ears didn't hear the slow hum of a happy and content Clark. He heard the squealing sirens, the calls over radios, the buzz of onlookers. 

-Do I really love him?- 

[Ruined down by pain and moaning for release] 

For the first time in his life, Clark felt completely unarmed, tired and sickened. By day break he had broke his records of firsts. 

"Don't know I have the manager's touch, eh Lex?" He asked silently, watching the serene face, white against white sheets. 

-Lex and his morphine induced sleep in hospital, three days ago. Lex and his power nap, now. Lex grumbling in the limo back to the penthouse, two and a half days ago. Lex in his private jet, destination Tokyo, an hour from now. The pile of unorganized paperwork, two days ago. Concise, to-the-point report in Lex's briefcase, color-coded, highlighted and neat, now. Lionel feeling as if he owned the whole world, for a long time up 'til now. Lionel feeling as if he's better off dead, soon- 

He left a note on the bedside table, scrawled with his best handwriting. He left orders to the 'drones' and to the butler hanging around like silently, discreetly, oh-so-helpfully. He left. 

"Find me, please," he whispered to the sky, to the trees and to the whole world. For all to hear, and to no one. He walked away. 

[Or nagged by want past resolution's power] 

He was on the flight bound to Tokyo. He was, his father wasn't. Ever. He was going to be on top of the world. He was, his father wasn't. He signed the agreement with Satoshi-san, his father didn't. 

"Dad. Guess what happened?" He called, from his private jet, elated, happy, flushed. 

"What?" was that detachment in his voice, that old devil. Was he happy, was he proud, was he digging his own grave? 

"That Japanese company..." 

"...is yours now. I know." Lex tried so hard to figure a note of defeat, but he failed miserably. In front, he saw the wings of the aircraft cut through slivers of white, cottony clouds, wondering where Clark was. -Find me, please- 

"Aren't you proud?" He still craved approval. -Where are you, Clark?- 

"Of course." Mocking, a chuckle. "Even more so you managed to send your boyfriend here to distract me. A pretty alien at that, got me distracted. Got the whole lab distracted." 

Silence. His world was void once more, only blinding white and zinging sounds. 

"Lex? You're still there?" 

He nodded. His father heard him nod. 

"Lex, in exchange..." 

All other speech was blurred. All other sensations failed to register into his mind. He fell into a void once more, and he came back. 

"No. Whatever you've been offering, no. You can keep him. You can keep him and watch me rule the fucking world." 

He opened his eyes to see the in-flight phone detached from the seat, flung to a corner. Laid bare, the insides spilling out, a mass of broken plastic and semi-conductors, a corpse of microchips and wires. Glass shattered around it, laid silent, accusing, catching the white light of the unbridled sun. 

Clark. On the metallic table. A mass of broken skin and blood. What was the color of his blood? Green, around him. Laid silent. 

[I might be driven to sell your love for peace] 

One, two, three months. His bed so cold, his heart so cold. He sat upright on his desk, running his multi-national company, the youngest gazillionaire, the heartless bastard (according to Martha and Jonathan Kent), the Luthor child who fucked his father over. 

He had never felt so powerful, the raw, unbridled power he wielded. The presidency around the corner, his campaign full swing, his company flourishing. -No Clark fussing over who I can fuck and who can fuck me, no Clark fussing over what I can eat and what I musn't drink- He had a new drinks cabinet made, since Clark locked the previous one. Filled it to the brim and had another one commissioned. 

"Lionel can keep that little lab and still play king," he spat into the framed newspaper cutting 'LIONEL LUTHOR FINDS ALLEGED ALIEN FROM DISTANT PLANET.' A cheesy line to mark the fall of a dethroned king. 

[Or trade the memory of this night for food] 

He heard the news, between the tests he was subjected to. He saw the impact of the news, driving the once unstoppable Lionel to a near craze. His empire fallen into pieces, his sanity hung on a spider's thread, strong it would seem, fragile was also the truth. 

This lab was the only one he had left, and he protected it with the last of his life: The last castle. 

Clark let his mind wander, trying to block the pain, trying to block the agony and sadness weaving its way. It was for love, and now he wondered whether he was wrong along the way. He eyed the metal bowl in the corner of the room, fresh rice and meat and green vegetables. Kept him alive, kept him sane. 

He wished for otherwise. 

"Find me, please," A litany. Wondered whether Earthen gods were deaf to aliens of a distant star. 

[It well may be. I do not think I would] 

The walls projected his click-clock of his footsteps. Expensive shoes over high-polished floors, clean and antiseptic. Behind him Lionel Luthor sped to catch up with him. He was flying, he knew. He was on top of the world, he knew. In front of him, separated by double-doors, Clark, he knew. 

His face wet from tears, but when he touched his cheeks, they were dry. He wished things could be different. 

He saw Clark, fussed over by lab scientists, poked and prodded. He saw Clark. Clark saw him. 

"I found you," he left. 

**-FIN-**

Note:  
1\. "Love is not All" (Edna St. Vincent Millay, 1931) 

2\. Please, please be kind. This is my first SmallVille fic. I've been watching SmallVille sporadically, and well... hmmm.. oh I don't know. 


End file.
